


intrusive thoughts

by orphan_account



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 20:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just some fucked up ideas I had while watching this show... mostly based around sexual tension and/or general bad power trip vibes





	intrusive thoughts

After the disastrous Believe Expo speech, Homelander doesn't fly back to Vought immediately. He knows Madelyn is waiting, but there's a squirmy, familiar sensation in his gut that he likes to ride the sharp edge of, push it until he knows she'll be properly pissed off. He counts it out this time, hovering above the expo grounds, watching Starlight dig her own grave. Perfect. He tells himself it's fear curling in his stomach, raising his blood pressure to 60/40, forcing him to breathe 20% faster than usual. His suit is stiff, but there's nothing it needs to conceal. This strange, calculated push against Madelyn's boundaries isn't about sex. Not completely, at least.

When he finally gets back to Vought, having flown back at a leisurely, shivery pace, she's already waiting. She's radiant, even when tired and pissed off. "Come in," she says through the wall, watching him through the camera eyes. He can lift a train above his head, cut down swathes of forest with his eyes, fly so far up the ozone layer is his carpet. He's scared of this woman, 5'7" with heels, completely human.

"In my defense-" he starts, acutely aware of how there's a wobble in his voice.

"Shut the fuck up," Madelyn says softly. His mouth snaps shut audibly with a force that would've cracked a normal human's jaw. She watches him from behind the desk, inspects his parade rest with cold eyes. He can barely hold still.

"God, you're just useless without me to tell you what to do, aren't you?" He wants to nod, but holds still through sheer force of will. She watches him twitch minutely, and even with his augmented vision, he's not sure if she smiles slightly at his discomfort. He shifts his weight-

"Don't you fucking move," she says, standing up. She walks around the desk and around him in a circle, like she was a predator. His hands clench together tighter, staying still like she said. He obeys. "Good boy," she adds on an eternity later, and now the suit's stiffness comes in handy. He can already feel himself hardening at the situation, the tension.

"Kneel," she says, and he drops to his knees immediately, taking care not to shatter the marble floor. He keeps his head down, staring at her heeled feet, and he's rewarded for his choice when she rests her hand on top of his head. Her hand is delicate, small, cold, and it feels like a brand against his own fever-warm skin. She kicks off both of her heels, using his prone form as leverage, before walking out of his sight to the couch. "Crawl to me," she says, and he shuffles awkwardly, cape now in the way. He knows what's coming, so he gets in position, on elbows and knees.

"God, you're such a dirty slut, aren't you?" she says conversationally, and he can't stop the full-body shiver that runs through him at that. "All those Americans, and Christians, and children, looking up to you. The ultimate American symbol. And here you are, bent over on my office floor like the whore you are. If they could only see you now. That flag cape all messed up, ass in the air." He wants to let out a whine at this, but she didn't say he could yet. He can be good, like she wants.

The first jolt of the plasma baton isn't unexpected, but it still hurts. He still doesn't make any noise though, because he knows how this works. She pushes, and he pushes back, and she always wins, and he's left as a keening, teary puddle on the floor, begging for something that could be either "more" or "stop". The second shock comes against his ribs, and his entire abdomen tenses up. The third against the meat of his thigh, the fourth against his neck. She alternates between weak points, as weak as places can get on the Homelander. He manages to hold out, all the way until she puts the baton against the conductive material right over his cock, and holds down. He convulses and wails and collapses, but she doesn't let up until he's stuttering in his begging. "Strip," she says mercilessly once she stops, watching his muscles twitch. He does. "Good boy," she adds, and his cock manages a valiant twitch. 

"Will you be good for me?" she asks, and he blubbers and promises yes, yes, I will, I'll do anything, please stop! Oh god, stop! Fuck, p-please, that hurts please, I'll do anything please-


End file.
